I even unloaded a couple of fresh packs of address labels I'd never gotten around to using on one of my more beloved clients, the fabulous Miz Jones, after we played cut-and-paste with the mock-up of our latest magnum opus: a presentation leave-behind for potential backers of her latest opera, Songs and Dances of Imaginary Lands.
No, yesterday was not about me tackling Mr. Skanky Fridge or me scrubbing out the bathtub (which desperately needs it, I mean, ew!) But as I blasted through my to-do list before heading out to a friend's wedding with The BF, I did note how, just over halfway through this experiment, things are subtly starting to shift for me. Because the one thing I have been adamant about through this process is keeping up with the little things.
Like making my bed, every day.
Like emptying the clean dishes from the drainer, every morning.
Like clearing my desktop, both computer and real world, of detritus, every night.
It's keeping me calmer. It's giving me breathing room and space to create. It's, I swear to you, making me more productive.
I used to hate routine chores. To me, they felt like just another iteration of the hobgoblin of little minds. But I had the quotation wrong: it's foolish consistency that's the hobgoblin. Some habits, kindness, thoughtfulness, mindfulness, are excellent habits that provide a foundation for great things in life.
Now I see these annoying little tasks as kindnesses I lavish upon myself: small gifts of time and attention to make me feel good. And maybe, just maybe, by making my tiny world a little better and myself feel a little more tended to, I send a happier me out to interact with the world. And then (ohboyohboyohboy) maybe I'm actually making the world a little better of a place for everyone else to live in.
So today, I will wash my morning dishes. Brush my teeth. Empty the trash. (I've made the bed already.) And not with a heavy heart, but by choice, because having these things done makes every part of life better.
And then, I'll get back to work, also by choice. On Labor Day.
Because then, on some random Tuesday afternoon or Thursday morning, I can play.
Consistent wisdom sprinkled with inconsistent foolishness, that's the ticket...